


An Obligation

by NewAgeVintage



Category: The Venture Bros
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Recreational Drug Use, Rusty almost OD's & Brock helps him work it out, discussion of therapy, hurt/comfort in a way
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-24
Updated: 2018-11-24
Packaged: 2019-08-28 21:58:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16731390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NewAgeVintage/pseuds/NewAgeVintage
Summary: After having to drag a strung out Rusty out of the tub Brock decides it's time for a change. He starts watching an agitated sober Rusty like a hawk until.... well until they can figure out that to do about it.Written for Danvssomethingorother on tumblr





	An Obligation

**Author's Note:**

  * For [danvssomethingorother](https://archiveofourown.org/users/danvssomethingorother/gifts).



> I like the idea that Rusty could take a million different paths depending on if he was encouraged or not. I think that Brock could defo be the one to push him down a healthier path under the right circumstances.

The one merit of a three day drug binge is that when someone asks you ‘what were you thinking?’ You can truthfully tell them you don’t know. Groggy and hung over Rusty was trying to get Brock to stop interrogating him. All he could clearly recall of the past several days was the blissful feeling of living on instinct and how cold he felt after being fished out of the bathtub.

Brock had found him sprawled out in the half empty tub, heartbeat too erratic. Caring too much to leave him, but too angry to be comforting when he hauled Rusty out of the bathroom and toweled him off. He let him sleep, waiting for him to sober up a bit and straighten out his heart rate.

But now Rusty was awake, aware, and miserable. Brock had already run through the standard questions, ‘what the hell were you thinking?’, ‘do you realize you could have died?’, Rusty had heard them all before.

They sat in silence for longer than either of them would like. Neither man was made for empathy and it made situations like this worse.

“You can’t keep doing this Rust.” Brock had his head in his hands, running out of ways to deal with these binges. “I can’t keep doing this.” Rusty scoffed, the only indicator that he’d been listening.

Set off by how little Rusty seemed to care about almost overdosing, again, Brock stood and started digging through the drawers of the nightstand. Rusty paid no attention to the action until he heard the rattling of a prescription bottle.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing Brock?!”

“Gettin' rid of this shit, I'm done with this crap"

Rusty started to stand, ready to snatch the bottle from Brock. A sharp look reminded him of what his bodyguard was capable of and he sat back down. “Geez, okay dad.”

It wasn't intended to be a direct call to his father, but the comparison to Jonas struck a nerve, “Don’t compare me to him. I give a shit.” They stopped talking and the only sound left in the room was Brock digging through drawers, clearing out whatever stashed drugs Rusty had squirreled away.

Eventually Brock left and Rusty was alone with his hangover.

 

-

 

After disposing of the bottles from the master bedroom Brock began checking the rest of the building for hidden pills. He’s gotten Rusty relatively clean before but losing the compound, J.J, and the sudden reappearance and second death of Jonas had tipped him back into old habits. The first time around was difficult, and it really just amounted to replacing prescriptions with alcohol. He would do better this time.

A thought hung in the back of Brock’s mind, 'you care too much'. The pair had recently broken the tension between them, put a name to the blood forged bond of two disastrous men. Love or lust or whatever it was that kept them together felt more like an obligation in these situations. Obligation was something Brock could follow through with though. If for nothing more, he was obligated to keep Rusty safe and relatively sane and he would hold onto that.

After two hours of checking any possible hiding spot he was confident the house was clear. He made his way back up to the master bedroom with two cups of coffee.

Rusty was sprawled across the bed, picking at a stray thread on the duvet. He didn’t stir at the sound of the door opening. Brock set the coffee on the bedside table and sat down.

“So you really got rid of all of it.”

“Yup.”

“I hate you, you know that right?”

“You don’t hate me.”

“Well I want too.”

They sat and drank their coffee, Rusty grateful for the caffeine.

The first day passed slowly, Rusty meandered around the building, Brock always about 4 feet behind him. Rusty knew from experience it was hard to shake Brock and decided trying to evade him wasn’t an option. So he let himself be followed around like some danger prone toddler.

They didn’t talk about why Brock was keeping an eye on him until the next day.

 

-

 

Rusty got up at dawn, woken by the bed shifting as Brock got up for his rounds. He turned away from the noise of Brock getting dressed and tried to fall back asleep. Unfortunately as soon as his eyes were closed again he felt a hand on his shoulder, gently shaking him.

“Hey, get up.”

Burrowing his head into a pillow Rusty groaned, “And why would I do that?”

“Morning rounds.”

Rusty sat up, a seething look on his face. “So I guess we’re doing the damn baby sitter thing again today.”

“Yup.” Brock tossed a set of clothes at Rusty, who begrudgingly got up and dressed.

 

-

 

Morning rounds were uneventful, all security cameras were working, no intruders, no staff outside of their work areas.

Both men were quiet for the first half of their patrol, Rusty nursing the cup of coffee he insisted on taking with him and Brock vigilant in his routine. Finally after passing through the lab Rusty said something. “Honestly Brock, do you really think not letting me sleep is helping anything?”

Brock mulled over the question for a few minutes before responding, “Routine’s helpful, ‘sides I could use the company.”

“Bullshit. You think if you leave me alone for even a damn second I’ll do something stupid.”

Agitated and already stressed by this ordeal Brock raises his voice, not yelling but obviously distressed by the topic, “Yeah Rust, I do think you’ll do something stupid. You do stupid shit all the fucking time! Have you ever considered that maybe I actually give a damn and don’t want you to go off and kill yourself?”

This is what it all came down to, the fear that this would all end in another suicide attempt. It had happened before, overwhelmed by having to live as Rusty Venture he would go off and do something stupid like over dose or throw himself from a window.

Rusty couldn’t find the right words to say and resigned himself to follow quietly as Brock finished checking the building.

 

-

 

Back in the penthouse Rusty sits at the kitchen table across from Brock. Brock is reading the paper and Rusty is fiddling with his phone. It feels to fake to be domestic and both of them are tense. They continue to play at it being a normal morning.

Finishing his second cup of coffee Rusty cracks.

“I’m sorry.” Brock puts down his paper, “I don’t know how to handle any of this, I’m sick of being Rusty fucking Venture. I can’t deal with all of… Of this!” He gestures to the building around them.

Brock softens his expression and nods, trying to coax him into saying more. Emotional outbursts might be common for Rusty, but being this genuine is a rarity.

“I just need something to cope. I don’t want to die, I just don’t want to live like this.”

Brock stands from his seat and walks around the table to put an arm around Rusty. The affection pushes him over the edge and suddenly he’s sobbing. Brock picks him up and relocates to the couch.

In the living room Brock sits on the couch with Rusty curled in his lap soaking the shoulder of his shirt in tears and snot. Rusty mumbles things about his childhood, his father, the company between tears. Slowly the sobbing is replaced by quiet exhaustion.

 

-

 

Rusty wakes up about an hour later, tucked into his bed. The memory of Brock rubbing his back and telling him it will all be okay feels like a dream. Shaking off the grogginess of a post cry nap the first thought in his mind is that he needs a fix. He’s tired and his body aches and a little pick me up would take care of that perfectly.

Reaching towards the bed side table Rusty remembers that isn’t an option. Quickly following is the realization that Brock isn’t in the room. He’d been within arm's length the past day and a half and the sudden lack of his presence jarring.

Part of him is relieved to be left alone but the voice at the back of his head is screaming for him to go find Brock, to go find a source of comfort. It’s the same part of him that just wants to let all of his fears and worries out, to just talk about them so they don’t belong to him alone.

Years of practice have made Rusty good at ignoring that little voice and he lays back down to sleep.

 

-

 

Sitting on the porch with a cigarette, Brock is deep in thought. Obviously getting Rusty to talk about his feelings was a step in the right direction. However it was figuring out what to do next that stumped him. He desperately wants to help, that’s the entire reason he came back, to make sure his family is safe.

Brock was well versed in what made Rusty Venture the man he is today, but reversing a childhood full of torment followed by decades of self loathing and failure was hard for a psychiatrist let alone a body guard. Reaching out to a psychiatrist felt like a decent plan, but Rusty was verbal about his distrust of therapy.

 

-

 

After waking up for the second time Rusty follows the instinct to seek out Brock. The physical exhaustion has started to fade, but the despair in the back of his mind is spreading to take its place and his normal coping mechanisms are gone. Making his way downstairs he spots Brock on the patio and goes outside.

"Hey"

"Hey Rust"

The want for comfort overtakes Rusty’s ability to start a conversation and he seats himself next to Brock. Without missing a beat Brock pulls him into his arms and rests his head on a narrow shoulder. They sit like this for a while, quiet and watching the afternoon sky.

Voice muffled by the fabric of Rusty’s shirt Brock apologizes. “I’m sorry Rust. I’m just trying to help.”

“I know.”

“I just need you to work with me on this.” Rusty sighs and leans back against Brock’s chest. “I can keep you safe from pretty much anything-“

Rusty cuts him off “except for myself.”

“Yeah”

Comforted by strong arms and distressed by a sober mind Rusty voices a previously unspoken truth, “I don’t think I can keep me safe from me either.”

Brock releases his hold and re-positions himself to make eye contact. “You need to get help.”

Rusty wants to fight the suggestion, he wants to whine and groan and complain about how psychiatrists are all bastards who get paid play with peoples trauma. Instead he simply waits for Brock to keep talking, to maybe say something that will convince him otherwise.

“I’m not going to force you to do anything” Brock grabs Rusty’s hands and holds them in his own. The feeling is somehow more intimate than the physical affection between them in the past. Rusty had always used Brock as a strong shoulder to lean on even before they took that next step in their relationship. Even since breaking the tension of mutual confused wanting the main change in their dynamic had been more sexual than anything. But these past few days Rusty had found new comfort in physical closeness and the gruff tenderness Brock’s shown him. “But damn it, please just try.”

“Fine.”

Brock pulls him close and kisses him. No one can see onto the deck but the openness of being outside is exhilarating and Rusty thinks to himself, maybe I can make this work.

 

_________

 

Two months down the line and Rusty Venture is still sober. He may have a cocktail to many on occasion, but a mild hangover is the worst that’s come of it.

Every Thursday afternoon he comes home from his appointment disgruntled and tired of talking about trauma and life and coping, but each time he feels a little lighter.

Brock Sampson watches the progress, noticing all the small changes first, thankful that the man he knew was always there is being revealed.


End file.
